“W-W-A-D,” I repeat to myself over and over as I step closer by inches. Elena hands me a cookie, which I hold between delicate fingers. I curl my other fingers down in some small effort to save them if this goes awry.
I can probably draw with my middle finger as long as I keep my thumb.
“W-W-A-D?” Straightening my back, I meet Ed’s eyes . . . well, my two eyes look deep into the one of his on the side I’m standing on.
“Ed, want a cookie?” I ask, sounding like I’m asking a parrot named Polly. I hold out the cookie, my shoulders scrunched up protectively as I lean away just in case. “Here, horsey, horsey. Who’s a good horsey?”
Ed slowly leans forward, nibbling the cookie for a moment with careful eyes on me before taking the whole cookie. “Oh!” I’m partially terrified, partially excited, and completely surprised that I survived with all my fingers intact. “I did it!” I tell my audience of three, who seem to be fighting back laughter at my dramatics over something they were doing easily.
But I’ve never been around horses. That’s not the life I lead.
Maybe I can use this as inspiration for an Alphena episode, though. Alphena tackles her greatest fear . . . moose. In her back story, Alphena was driving through Michigan to go Polar Bear skinny dipping on the Canadian border when a moose stepped out of the fog at a gas station to literally try to mate with her car while she was inside getting peanut butter cups and beef jerky. Alphena stopped the moose by shouting and shooing it off, but she had hoof-sized dents and a broken hood ornament as souvenirs for her troubles.
Yeah, I can see it . . . Alphena feeding a moose at a rescue sanctuary, getting over her fear just like I am . . .
“Good girl.”
Carter’s praise hits me unexpectedly, sounding so much like last night, and the rumble of his voice is echoed deep in my belly by butterflies banging around. “Uh, thanks . . . babe.”
Grace gives Carter a strange look, and I step to his side, snaking my arm around his waist before Elena catches on to my stuttered endearment.
Thankfully, Grace has the attention span of your average eight-year-old, and when Peanut Butter runs by chasing a blowing leaf, she runs off after him.
Crisis averted! For now . . .
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
CARTER
I’m disappointed that Elena isn’t ready to sign a deal with Blue Lake Assets, and by extension, me. But I understand her desire to sleep on it and meet with her current money man, so I keep a salesman’s smile on my face while Elena shows Grace through the barn, then walks us through the statue-filled garden and the pool house. It’s completely oversized like the estate itself, with several bedrooms, a large living room and dining room space, and a bathroom centered around a spa tub. She’s not showing off but rather showing Luna more of Thomas’s art. It seems to be tucked into every nook, every possible cranny.
Even the bathroom has art, sculptures that resist the humidity and have Luna marveling. Because of that, it's hours before we start making our way back toward the main house, but I’m in no rush. The more Elena talks, the better my chances are with wooing her. And the more Luna enjoys seeing the art, the more likely she is to keep helping me.
We’re in what qualifies as the back yard when a young boy, probably close to Grace’s age, runs toward us. “Ann-Elle! Ann-Elle!”
I blink in surprise, listening carefully because it really sounds like he’s screaming ‘anal’ over and over. It takes me a good second to decipher that he’s saying ‘Aunt El’， as in Elena, but with a bit of a drawl.
The screeching is enough to scare Peanut Butter, who’s not exactly a fearless dog anyway, and he yelps as he bolts away with his tail between his legs. Right into the swimming pool with a big splash.
“Nutbuster! Get outta there!” I shout, adding to the racket. Running after the damn dog, I can still hear Elena as the boy nearly tackles her in a hug.
“Oof, well, hello there! I wasn’t expecting to see you today, Jacob,” Elena tells the boy breathlessly. “Where’s your momma?”
He starts jumping up and down excitedly. “Talking to Mr. Stanley. Are we swimming?” The boy—Jacob, I guess—sprints to my side, bumping me out of the way to step past me into the pool up to his knees, fully dressed, shoes and all.
“Probably don’t wanna do that, man. If I know moms, yours is gonna have your hide,” I warn. But he shrugs me off, either not believing me or not fearing his mother.
“Here, doggy, doggy!” he shouts, his voice still gratingly high. What is up with this kid’s vocal cords?
Grace has followed—thankfully staying dry on the pool deck next to me—and informs the boy, “His name’s Nutbuster. He’s my Uncle Kyle’s dog. Nutbuster, get your butt over here.”
Squatted down and leaning over the water, I’ve managed to grab Peanut Butter’s collar and guide him toward the pool steps, where a waiting Jacob wraps his arms around the dog’s neck, getting his shirt soaked and burying his face in wet fur. Blech!
“Why don’t we get on up to the house? We’ll get y’all cleaned up and dry,” Elena tells the kids and dog, and then she looks to me and Luna. “And you can meet my niece, Claire.”
Elena’s suggestion is met with more wild jumping, and then Jacob takes her hand, roughly pulling her toward the house. He’s a bit rambunctious, and that’s saying something considering I’m used to Grace’s exuberance.
I glance at Luna to see if she’s on the same page, but she’s holding Grace’s hand and being carried away toward the house too. I guess one way or another, she’s onboard.
“Guess it’s you and me,” I murmur to Peanut Butter. He gives me a doggy smile, barely warning me before he shakes wildly, sending water droplets everywhere. “Ugh, seriously?” I growl, trying in vain to shield myself from the onslaught but mostly only stopping it from hitting me in the face. Peanut Butter barks happily, looking after Grace.
“Let’s go.” One pat of my leg, and we cover ground easily, catching up despite with a few more shakes from Peanut Butter.
Going through a side door into a mudroom of sorts, Elena calls out, “Claire? Where you at, sweetie?”
But Elena waits for no one and she’s opening cabinets, pulling out towels, and roughly drying Jacob off. Once his hair is standing straight up, she hands him a stack of folded sweats and he disappears into a small bathroom. I’ve got Grace toweled off too, but thankfully, she doesn’t need a change of clothes, and the dog that started this whole wet mess is somehow mostly dry.
A woman I assume to be Claire comes into the mudroom. She’s in her late forties, her blonde expertly managed to hide any grays, her face a skillfully done Botox mask, and her designer outfit is from this year’s Dior collection. She’s what my mother would politely call ‘well-maintained’。
“Right here, Aunt Elena.” Her voice is warm honey, but when she sees Luna and me, it turns to steel. “Hello. Nice to meet you.”
She’s lying, but I’ll win her over. I always do. I offer my hand. “Nice to meet you, Claire. I’m Carter Harrington and this is my wife, Luna. My niece, Grace, is around here somewhere . . .” I trail off teasingly, looking around as though I don’t see Grace, who’s standing beside me. “Here?” I lift one arm, glancing to my right, then the other, glancing to my left and spinning in a circle as I look behind me.